


Perceptor's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

by LackingBinary



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Self Service, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, everyone is terrible at communicating, everything ends up fine I promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-08-15 21:44:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8073838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LackingBinary/pseuds/LackingBinary
Summary: Perceptor walks in on something that he probably shouldn't have. In typical Perceptor fashion, he doesn't entirely know how to deal with it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i guess you could say this is my first rodeo  
> and by that i mean i've never written porn OR fanfic. so, enjoy i guess.

This almost certainly wasn’t the most preposterous situation that Brainstorm had ever found himself in. Which might imply something unpalatable about him, now that he thought about it. But hey, when you’d been around for as many vorns as he had, you were bound to have some less-than-savory experiences. The thought might’ve given him pause if his processor hadn’t already been occupied by something far more entertaining. 

To be exact, it was occupied with coordinating the movements of his hands. One was wrapped around his spike, and the servos of the other were buried joint-deep in his valve. Charge crackled in the space between his protoform and his plating, searching desperately for release. His searching digits brushed against a particularly sensitive node, wrangling a harsh moan from his vocalizer, and he leaned back hard against the lab table he was balanced on. 

Because he was in his fragging _lab_ , of course he was. Because he hadn’t had enough patience to make his way back to his habsuite. Another surge of pleasure arced through him as he slid his hand along his spike, the table groaning as his increasingly shaky legs refused to support his weight. _Primus_ , but it’d been too long since he’d indulged himself like this. 

Pulling his hand from his valve, he ran the still-damp servos gently along his wingtips. He shivered at the contact, wishing fervently that he had more hands. He was a fragging _genius_ , why hadn’t he invented something of the sort by now? 

_Or_ , he thought, _you could find an actual mech to interface with, rather than fragging yourself on your own servos in your damned lab_. Oh, but that was a decidedly unarousing thought. He pushed it away resolutely, and he certainly didn’t imagine another frame pressed against his own, didn’t imagine wrapping his servos around a scope the same way they were currently wrapped around his spike.

Growling, he dragged his hand down his spinal strut. The faint screech of metal-on-metal told him that he had probably left a mark, but the electric tinge of pleasure bordering on pain was worth any explanation he might have to fabricate. 

He returned his servos to his valve, circling the entrance before thrusting in with abandon. Stroking his spike in time with the thrusts, the charge in his system built to a fever pitch. His cooling fans were at their maximum speed and yet he still felt like he was melting, his systems threatening to offline themselves from the sheer amount of sensory input. “Fraggin’ _close_ ,” he muttered, denta biting at his lip beneath his faceplate hard enough that he could taste his own energon in his mouth

And then his overwrought processor helpfully notified him that someone was approaching his door. His audials picked up the sound of heavy footsteps drawing closer, only faintly discernible over the slick sound of his servos on his spike. And he hadn’t locked the door, had he? Frag, had he even closed it?

The door slid open, accompanied by a voice calling his name. He hadn’t closed it, then. 

And there, silhouetted against the bright lights of the Lost Light’s hallway, was Perceptor. And Brainstorm-- he should stop, he really should, he _knew that_ , but it was perhaps _possible_ that the ship’s resident egotistical self-titled genius was a little bit of an exhibitionist. 

At the sight of Perceptor, Brainstorm’s optics widened and he jerked forward almost involuntarily. Unfortunately (depending on one’s definition of ‘unfortunate’), the movement pressed one of his servos sharply against the ceiling node of his valve. His shout of “Perceptor!” was cut off in a rush of static as his vocalizer offlined itself, his frame caught in the throes of a sudden and achingly sharp overload. He arched back on the table, his vocalizer still spitting static as his spike spilled transfluid across his chest panels. The charge seared through his frame like fire, leaving him spent and gasping in its wake.

As Brainstorm’s systems came back online one by one, he became agonizingly aware of the situation he’d ended up in. The lab was deafeningly quiet, save for the sound of Brainstorm’s slowing cooling fans. His thoughts were still foggy, but it was beginning to sink in that he’d made quite a mess of things. Literally _and_ metaphorically, hah! 

Perceptor hadn’t moved. He still stood in the entrance to the lab, hand braced against the doorframe. His expression was remarkably blank, giving away nothing. It was almost impressive, if Brainstorm was the kind of mech who could be impressed by the likes of _Perceptor._

Brainstorm shifted, his armor sliding against the hard metal of the lab table with a harsh grating sound. He realized that his interface panels were still open, and he snapped them shut with an audible _click_. He opened his mouth to speak, but only garbled static emerged. Resetting his vocalizer, he tried again, trying to affect some semblance of cheer: “Percy! What brings you all the way out here? Couldn’t keep yourself away from my _dazzling_ brilliance?”

There was a little more static in the words than he’d like, but nobody was perfect. He stood up, with as much dignity as a mech covered in his own transfluid could muster. Absently, he ran his servos through the mess. 

And then, as if the situation wasn’t surreal enough, Perceptor’s cooling fans clicked on. Brainstorm froze, turning the full force of his optics on the mech occupying his door. Perceptor’s face was flushed, and if Brainstorm wasn’t mistaken (which he rarely was), he was gripping the wall hard enough to dent the metal. Oh, that was _interesting_. He felt a predatory grin creep across his face.

“I--” Perceptor reset his vocalizer, then tried again. “I had a query, but perhaps it would be… prudent for me to return at a later point,” he managed. 

While Brainstorm was deciding whether to be sultry or sarcastic (or perhaps some combination of the two?), Perceptor turned on his heel and fled. 

Brainstorm stared after him. He cycled his optics a few times, trying to process the events of the last few minutes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> okay so, i just want to say that a) this chapter was supposed to go better and b) things will be fine. eventually
> 
> Alternately: things go downhill faster than anyone thought possible

Brainstorm wasn’t pining. That would be _pathetic_. He had been many things in his functioning, but pathetic certainly wasn’t one of them. It was just that he hadn’t seen Perceptor since-- well, since the other mech had walked in on him. Since he had overloaded while shouting Perceptor’s fraggin’ name. 

He had to admit that he was more than a little confused. If Perceptor was avoiding him because he had _liked_ what he’d seen, then he should’ve let Brainstorm know so that they could continue on to more _pleasurable_ uses of their time. Brainstorm’s fans clicked on, and he offlined them with a flash of annoyance. He did, after all, have work to do. 

If, on the other hand, Perceptor was _disgusted_ by Brainstorm’s display (which would be absurd, honestly; he was a damn attractive mech, and he doubted Perceptor had seen _any_ action in a while), he could at least have the decency to pretend nothing had happened. The other scientist was capable of being professional, surely?

But _Primus_ , he couldn’t help hoping it was the former. He’d lost track of how many times he’d lost himself in the memory of that moment, brought himself to overload at the thought of Perceptor’s flushed face and the _whir_ of his cooling fans as he’d watched Brainstorm frag himself. Not that he’d admit that to the mech. Nor would he admit how desperately he wanted to see Perceptor fall apart, to watch that flush creep over the rest of his plating as he arched against Brainstorm--

His interface panel tried to click open and he overrode it with a snarl, grinding his dentae. He needed to resolve this, one way or another. It was impossible to work with delicate systems when he was like this, for fear that the overcharge would damage something.

He needed to find Perceptor. 

\------

Perceptor did not want to be found. 

By all rights, the sight of his frankly deranged coworker shamelessly splayed on his own lab table should have prompted nothing more than disgust or contempt.

Instead, his processor had sent a desperate request to retract his interface panel. A request he had managed to deny, thank Primus. But that didn’t change the fact that it had happened

Brainstorm’s smile haunted him, the predatory quirk of those lips when he’d seen Perceptor standing there. And, oh, the _shameless_ way he’d moaned Perceptor’s name, the syllables half-eaten by static. 

Perceptor in-vented slowly, trying to calm himself. This was not a lucrative train of thought.

Brainstorm might be a fellow scientist, and he might even be a _good_ scientist, but Perceptor didn’t trust the mech as far as he could throw him. There was no way he was going to let Brainstorm see any more of his weakness than he already had.

Perceptor covered his face with his hand, feeling the low-level charge crackle through his frame. This entire situation was ridiculous. If he survived the sexual frustration, he was never walking into a room without comming the inhabitants again. 

Even if the door _had_ been open. 

_\------_

Perceptor was in his quarters. If questioned, Brainstorm would insist that he had been led there by a lucky guess and not by the tracker that he’d slipped under his fellow mech’s plating. Which was, okay, not the _most_ ethical thing he’d ever done. But it wasn’t hurting anyone, really. And it had certainly come in handy. 

The door to Perceptor’s habsuite was shut but not locked. Without pausing, Brainstorm slid the door open and barged inside. Another mech might have been wary, given how the last incident with an unlocked door had turned out, but nobody had ever accused Brainstorm of learning from his mistakes. 

As it turned out, Perceptor was sitting quietly at his desk, reading off of a data pad. Brainstorm was-- he was _not_ disappointed about that. Really, he wasn’t. 

“ _He_ -llo, Percy! Fancy meeting you here!” He chirped with far more enthusiasm than he actually felt. 

Perceptor leapt from his chair with such haste that he smashed his helm against a light fixture, denting it slightly. The chaotic mix of anger and fear that was momentarily visible before the mech schooled his face into calmer expression did not bode well for his chances of working this out favorably. 

“Brainstorm! How did you gain entry to my quarters? I thought I made it exceedingly clear that I would _report you_ to Ultra Magnus if you persisted in hacking my security systems--” 

“It, uh. It was unlocked,” Brainstorm cut in. And it was patently unfair to bring up the security systems; what had Perceptor expected when he’d claimed his systems were “unhackable” within range of Brainstorm’s audials? It wasn't like he'd done any lasting damage. 

“Oh,” Perceptor said, looking rather like he wanted to descend through the floor. 

There was an uncomfortable span of silence before Brainstorm said, “So. I had a question, and I thought you might be able to figure it out for me.” 

Perceptor made a strangled sound, and Brainstorm figured that was all the assent he was gonna get right now. 

“Hypothetically, then,” he said, taking a step closer. “If I were doing something of an, ah, _personal_ nature, and someone walked in and they saw-- and then instead of leaving, they _stayed_ \-- what do you think that would mean?” 

He was close enough now to hear Perceptor’s fans spin up, to see the faint blush that crept across his face. Yet his voice was steady enough when he said, “It didn’t mean anything, Brainstorm.” 

Oh, but Brainstorm knew a lie when he heard one. A mech didn’t spend as much time fabricating his own personality as Brainstorm had without learning to pick up on the tells. “I don’t believe that, Percy. I saw the look on your face. Nobody’s looked at me like that since--” he stuttered, reset his vocalizer. Now was not the time to think about _him_. “Well, it’s been a while." 

It was only when Perceptor’s optics narrowed that he realized that his accusatory statement might be misconstrued as pathetic. Which it wasn’t. At all. 

“Brainstorm--” No doubt about it, there was _pity_ in the other mech’s tone. 

“No, no, none of that,” he nearly snarled. He was furious, suddenly, anger crawling across his plates like a persistent itch. “I didn’t come here to listen to your fraggin’ pity, okay?” 

In a fluid motion, Brainstorm reached out and shoved Perceptor against the wall. He leaned into the mech’s space, his servos curling into fists. “I just wanted to know why you watched. Was it just because I was _there_ , because I was a _spectacle_? Did it have anything at all to do with who I was, or did you just enjoy being a voyeur? Were you hoping for a repeat performance?” 

He… hadn’t meant to say that last part. But that _was_ the million-shanix question, wasn’t it? 

Silence fell around them, and as Brainstorm’s anger receded he became aware of the way he was pressed against Perceptor, could hear the other mech’s fans positively _roaring_. Haltingly, Perceptor raised shaking hands and placed them against Brainstorm’s chest… 

And pushed him away. 

There was no anger in the movement, not even any real force, but somehow that only made it worse. He was no stranger to rejection, but something deep in his tanks twisted painfully at the look he saw in those optics. 

“Well, I guess that answers that,” Brainstorm managed. “It’s been fun, but I think it’s past time I ditched this joint.” 

He took one halting step back, then another. His struts threatened to fail with every pace, but he couldn’t afford to collapse now, to look any weaker than he already had. 

Perceptor started to say something behind him, but the words were lost on him. He was already through the doorway, down the hall, gone. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> have some more Filth  
> gonna post it now because the more I look at it the more I dislike it

The lighting in Brainstorm’s habsuite was dimmed, creating a pleasantly intimate atmosphere. He could hardly see the mech that knelt before him, balanced lithely between his spread thighs. He cycled his optics lazily, reaching up to stroke the sharp planes of the mech’s face. 

“You gonna get down here anytime soon, or am I gonna have to come up there?” The words were met with a deep chuckle that vibrated through his frame. Brainstorm’s tanks twisted in anticipation as the mech lowered his head, trailing his glossa along the inner expanse of Brainstorm’s thigh. He arched into the touch, but a firm hand against his hip held him to the berth.

“Eager, aren't you?” The mech whispered against his plating. Brainstorm tried to respond, but his vocalizer cut off in a rush of static as roaming servos brushed across his wingtips. Brainstorm’s hands slid helplessly across the mech’s polished shoulder plating as he tried to convey his desperation, his desire for things to _move faster_.

Instead, the touch vanished. He squinted up at the shape above him, impatience edging on irritation. He shifted his hips, aching for those hands to return to his frame.

“You look so beautiful like this, sweetspark.” And damn if that didn’t cause Brainstorm spark to stutter in its casing. Even if the statement was rather strange, even if neither of them should have been able to see the other in lighting this dark-- 

But then the other mech’s lips were on his own and he ceased to think anything at all, unable to process more than the scrape of metal-on-metal as the mech’s plating was pressed flush against his own. Every point of contact _sung_ , every movement sent pleasure arcing through his circuits. He moaned into the kiss, feeling the mech smile against his mouth

His optics had offlined themselves at some point, overwhelmed, and he reset them. The other mech drew back from the kiss, and Brainstorm could see that he still had that smile on his face. It was a gentle thing, and for some reason the sight of it caused Brainstorm’s tanks to churn unpleasantly.

And above those eyes glinted a single blue optic, set beside an equally blue targeting module. Because it was Perceptor here with him. Of course it was Perceptor. There was no reason for it to have been anyone else.

In a bid to banish his churning thoughts, Brainstorm lunged forward and and pressed his mouth back against Perceptor’s. It was almost painful, the angle wrong and their dentae clicking together, but Perceptor pulled Brainstorm hard against his chest and suddenly none of that mattered.

Percy pushed him back against the berth, following close behind with roving hands and a sinfully hot mouth that seemed to be everywhere at once. There was a sharp _click_ , and then he felt Percy’s spike against his upper thigh. His own panels retracted with almost embarrassing speed, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care as his spike pressurized between them.

“I was a fool to have never accepted your-- _ngh_ \-- offers before this point,” Perceptor mumbled against his neck, thrusting in a way that slid their spikes together. Brainstorm _whined_ , overtaxed fans roaring as they tried to quell the fire burning in his core. 

He could feel his valve leaking, aching desperately for contact of any sort. He pulled one of his arms free from where it had been trapped between them and tried to maneuver it towards his valve, but Percy noticed the motion and caught the hand in his own. 

“None of that now, hm? I’ve finally got you in my berth, and I’d be a pitiful host if if I made you get yourself off.” His voice had no right sounding like that, Brainstorm thought petulantly. But his struts shivered in anticipation.

Perceptor’s weight disappeared, and Brainstorm bemoaned the loss of contact for a moment before he felt the mech settle between his legs. For an instant, there was no sensation except for the charge crackling beneath his armor. Then Perceptor’s glossa was in his valve-- _dear Primus_ \-- sweeping across sensitized nodes. His mouth was obscenely wet, and the little _sounds_ he was making, like there was nothing he would rather be doing than blowing Brainstorm’s processor, might well cause him to overload all on their own. 

Brainstorm thought, foggily, that he could live in this moment forever and never tire of it.

Perceptor’s hand wrapped around his spike, pumping it with sure, even strokes. Sparks danced across Brainstorm’s optics, every circuit in his frame alive with charge. His servos flexed desperately against the metal of the berth, his hips thrusting desperately into Perceptor’s grasp. 

The glossa disappeared from his valve, replaced almost instantly by servos. Brainstorm might’ve protested the absence if Perceptor’s mouth hadn’t immediately reapplied itself to his spike, bathing it in wet heat.

Any semblance of coherent thought deserted him as he overloaded, valve clenching hard as he arched off the berth. His optics offlined, overwhelmed by the charge he could feel crackling across his frame. He screamed, and it was Perceptor’s name and static and the invocation of every deity he had ever known. 

He kept his optics offline as he sank back against the berth, his cooling fans spinning down as the charge in his circuits abated. He in-vented, ex-vented. Once. Twice. 

Then he onlined his optics, his intake clenching painfully as he took in the empty room. There was nobody there. There never had been, it had only ever been his own servos pressed to his interface array. He was just a pathetic pile of slag, covered in his own drying transfluid.

Coolant pressed against the back of his optics and his tanks twisted, threatening to purge themselves. Fraggin _pathetic_ , was what he was. He'd spent so much of his functioning denying it, but what other term was was appropriate? Imagining mechs-- imagining _Percy_ \-- ‘facing him, pretending that they cared about him because nobody ever _had_ , he’d been alone ever since he’d been forged in the middle of a thrice-damned war that was _over now_ , and what had been the _point_ \--

His comm chirped, and he levelled it with a glare that might’ve given even Ultra Magnus pause. It chimed again, quite oblivious. 

“Brainstorm here,” he answered, not caring about the lingering static that still buzzed behind his words.

“Ah, finally!” It was Rodimus, sounding aggravatingly upbeat. “Listen, I’m sorry if I’m interrupting something, but we have a problem.”

“Dare I ask what kind of _problem?_ ” He hoped that it involved explosions. Lots of explosions. 

“Well, you see, I just got this lecture from Ultra Magnus about how we’ve gotta ‘keep the ship running at optimal efficiency, Rodimus’--” Primus help him, Brainstorm could hear the air quotes. “Which, apparently, means fixing things _before_ they blow up! I know, I know, ridiculous! Anyway, he’s got it in his processor that there’s something’s wrong with the engines and--”

“And you need my surpassing genius to solve the issue? I’ll see if I can find some time in my schedule to--” 

“No, no, not that. The thing is, we’ve… lost track of Perceptor, and we need you to find him so that he can take a look.”

The litany of curses that followed contained some rather imaginative profanity, some of which Rodimus had never even _heard_ before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there'll... probably be like one more chapter of this? maybe two. depends how long the awkward robots take to resolve their issues i guess


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aaand here we are!  
> this chapter fought me & i feel like everyone ended up a bit ooc but what can ya do

Meanwhile and elsewhere, Perceptor was having a crisis. 

He had ensconced himself in one of the _Lost Light_ ’s myriad unused rooms, far enough from his own quarters that he hoped nobody would think to look for him for a good long while. Maybe nobody would look for him at all; perhaps they’d just assume he was another casualty of this misadventure, swallowed into the depths of the ship. That’d suit him just fine.

Then, at least, he wouldn’t have to sort out this whole mess with Brainstorm. He wouldn’t have to admit that when he’d pushed the other mech away, he hadn’t meant for him to leave. He’d just wanted time to think, time to match words with intention. But words had failed him as they always did, and by saying nothing he’d fragged things up even more. 

The memory of the pain in those yellow optics haunted him, as did the look of resignation that had replaced it . It was the expression of someone who had faced such rejection before, and had come to expect it. An unexpected flicker of anger curled in his tanks at the thought, and he tamped it down. What right did he have to feel that way, after he’d effectively done the same thing?

Primus, he was going to stay in this room forever. He didn’t want to see Brainstorm again, didn’t want proof of the anger that he knew the other mech felt. And he certainly didn’t want to think about why he suddenly cared what the damnable egotist thought of him. 

More than anything, he didn’t want to think about what he’d seen in the lab. If nothing else, it was something he shouldn’t have witnessed, a cataclysmic invasion of privacy. Even if Brainstorm hadn’t locked the door, he shouldn’t have stuck around to watch.

He buried his head in his hands as a rush of heat shot through him at the memory, setting his interface array tingling. He wished desperately that he could purge the last few cycles from his processor. He and Brainstorm could go back to trading insults and vague animosity, and they could look one another in the optics again. 

Suddenly, there was knocking on the door. Perceptor shrank back against the wall, instinctively reaching for a gun that he no longer carried. He grappled with millennia of fight-or-flight programming, reminding himself that the _Lost Light_ was not a battleground and he was not hiding from enemies. If anyone was an enemy here, it was almost certainly his own processor. Incrementally, he forced himself to relax. 

The knocking started up again, more insistent this time. Obviously, the intruder wasn’t going to go away until he let them in. He was levering himself up on shaky struts when a familiar voice floated through the door. 

“Perceptor? I know you’re in there! Rodimus needs you for some slag, and he’s decided all I’m good for is finding your sorry aft. It’s not the best day to try my patience, so open up before I come back with a weapon and blast through the fraggin wall!”

Perceptor barely suppressed a groan. Of all the mechs who could have found him, of course it had to have been Brainstorm. With a feeling of dread deep in his tanks, he made his way to the door and punched in the access code. It slid back to reveal Brainstorm, his expression blank and unreadable behind his faceplate. They stood in silence for a beat, tension unfurling in the space between them

He opened his mouth to speak, but Brainstorm cut him off with a sharp shake of his head. “No, we’re not gonna talk about this again. You made your thoughts clear enough, don’t you think? So you’re gonna follow me back to the bridge, and then I’m gonna get back to doing things that are _actually_ important.” 

With that, he spun on his heel and stalked off down the hallway. Every taut line of his frame radiated tension and anger, and it took all of Perceptor’s willpower to keep from locking himself back in the room and hiding until they finished this quest or he offlined. Only the knowledge that Brainstorm probably _would_ blast apart the ship and drag him from the rubble stopped him from doing so. Instead, he followed miserably. 

\---

Everything about this situation was _infuriating_. Not only had Rodimus reduced him to a glorified errand mech, Brainstorm had agreed to it! He should’ve told him to shove it up his intake, captain or no, but part of him had been… concerned for his fellow scientist. Which was ridiculous, frankly; Perceptor was more than capable of looking after himself. 

He glanced back at the other mech, who was still following him with downcast optics. It was disorienting to see him so subdued, and Brainstorm found that he hated it. He had grown used to their arguments, to the full force of that mind focused solely on him even if it was only in agitation and incredulity. 

The walk was uncomfortable and interminable, and Brainstorm was relieved when it finally ended. He had intended to leave Perceptor outside Rodimus’ (garishly painted) office, but Perceptor had finally lifted his gaze from the floor and the look in those optics seemed to entreat Brainstorm to follow. Well, why not? His weapons could wait. 

The door slid open to reveal Rodimus, perched on his desk with his head propped against one hand, so perfectly idle that Brainstorm was sure he was avoiding an incredible amount of paperwork. At the sight of them, Rodimus perked up and leaned forward. 

“You found him! Just in time, too; Magnus was starting to get on my case again.”

Brainstorm was starting to wonder whether Rodimus had room in his processor for anything besides his own ego. 

Perceptor cycled his vocalizer with a _click_ that drew all the attention in the room. He crossed his arms, narrowing his optics at Rodimus. “Why, precisely, did you have me brought here?”

“Brainstorm didn’t explain? We need you to take a look at the engines.”

“The--?” He seemed at a loss. “Why does that require _my_ expertise?”

Rodimus frowned. “Well, you are the ship’s scientist--”

“I am _a_ scientist on this vessel. I’m by no means the only one.”

“And I know that, but--”

“No, _listen_ to me. There are plenty of mechs who are just as qualified as I am, and you’re doing a disservice to both them and me by insisting otherwise.” He gestured at Brainstorm, resolutely not meeting his optics, “Brainstorm, for instance, is perfectly capable of performing most any task that I am, albeit in a rather more… combustible manner.” 

And maybe it was time Brainstorm made an appointment with Rung, because he could've _sworn_ that Perceptor had just complimented him. Except Perceptor only ever complimented him in his fantasies, and this was clearly reality. On the other hand, he'd rather swallow a plasma grenade than admit that he was hallucinating basic praise from his crewmates, even if Rung wouldn't judge him for it. 

He realized, suddenly, that the room was utterly quiet and the other two mechs were staring at him. 

“Brainstorm?” Perceptor asked carefully, in a tone that implied they’d been talking to him for quite some time. 

“Uh.”

“Perceptor and I are going to meet up with Magnus down in the quantum engines. You wanna tag along?” 

“Ah, no. No, I think I'll be going now. I've got this experimental...scimitar… thing to work on. It's very temperamental, I’m afraid I can't leave it unsupervised for too long. Best of luck with the engines, though!”

He turned, feeling two pairs of optics burning into his plating. He was definitively _not_ fleeing, he told himself as he fled. 

\---

Brainstorm was not making any progress on his weapons. Since returning to his lab, he’d done little more than stare absently at the blueprints. This was the stage of design that required innovation, but none of his usual brilliant insights was coming to him. 

He ex-vented heavily, laying his head against the table in defeat. His one-track thought process was undeniably helpful when he was working, but it was an absolute nightmare when his processor decided to latch onto anything else. 

Someone entered the lab, triggering several of the alarms. Somehow, this didn’t seem important enough to justify lifting his head. 

“Can’t you tell I’m busy here?” He mumbled against the metal surface of the table. The words sounded rough and staticky, even to his own audials. 

“If this is an inopportune time, I can certainly return at a later interval.”

“ _Perceptor_?” He sat up so fast that some inner mechanism whined in warning. He ignored it. “What’re you doing here?”

Perceptor twined his servos together, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “There was, it turns out, no real problem with the engines. Just Magnus triple-checking everything, it seems. Rodimus said he’d have a talk with him, but I don’t imagine anything will come of it.” He paused, seeming to realize that he’d gotten off track. “Ah, anyway. I wanted to.. Apologize. For making you search me out for what ended up being nothing at all, and for... everything else.”

Primus, were they still talking about this? “It’s fine, Percy. I’m not fraggin’ made of glass, alright? I’m not gonna fall apart just because you turned me down.” 

At some point he had turned his gaze from Perceptor, hoping the other mech wouldn’t call him on the falsehood. And, okay, maybe he was paying more attention to projecting a facsimile of calm than focusing on his surroundings. 

As such, he didn’t notice that Perceptor had moved closer until he felt a gentle touch against his hand. He looked up, startled, and found Perceptor’s face dangerously close to his own. 

“It occurs to me,” he said, “that you may have misconstrued the intent of my apology.” And before Brainstorm could ask what in Primus’ name that jumble of words _meant_ , Perceptor leaned in and pressed a kiss to his faceplate. 

Brainstorm’s optics offlined themselves. Actually, it felt rather like most of his systems had offlined themselves. His spark stuttered alarmingly in his chest as his processor repeatedly failed to conceptualize what was happening. 

“Brainstorm?” Perceptor’s voice was concerned and Brainstorm should respond, he really should, but Perceptor was still alarmingly close and it was impairing his functioning. He felt a hand rest lightly against the edge of his wing and his cooling fans kicked on against his will. 

There was nothing he could do about the fans right now, but he struggled through the haze of his processor to online his optics. Perceptor was still there, his expression tinged with concern and quite a bit of guilt. 

This was, he decided, almost certainly a dream. He had probably passed out on the floor of Rodimus’ office and any moment now he’d wake up in the medbay to Ratchet’s gruff voice and some sharp medical instrument prodding at him. Might as well enjoy this while it lasted, right?

He reached up and activated the manual release switch on his faceplate, pulling it off and setting it carefully on the table. Perceptor’s optics widened in surprise, but he didn’t say anything. He seemed to be waiting for Brainstorm to make the next move, which was… strange but not unwelcome, he found. 

Hesitantly, he cupped Perceptor’s face in his hands and brought their lips together. He felt the tension drain from the other mech’s frame as he shifted his hands to rest against Brainstorm’s sides. He drew back and rested their helms together. This close, Brainstorm could feel his engine rumbling through the places where their frames made contact. “To be honest, I was expecting you to tell me to frag off,” Perceptor admitted.

“What? Why in the name of Primus would I do that?”

“To say I have not comported myself well these past few cycles would be a vast understatement,” Perceptor mumbled, valiantly trying to avoid Brainstorm’s gaze despite their closeness.

Brainstorm waved a hand dismissively, affecting an air of nonchalance. “Consider it forgotten. People have done worse with less of an apology.”

Perceptor swayed back, pulling his hands from Brainstorm’s plating as though he’d been burned. Brainstorm, left off-kilter, nearly fell before he caught himself. Confusion warred with pain as he braced himself for another rejection. What kind of idiot let the same mech break his spark more than once? 

Then Perceptor’s hands were back, gripping him firmly by the shoulders. He cycled his optics, confused. He’d been so sure that Perceptor was going to leave. But here he was, still, looking at Brainstorm with an intensity that was honestly a bit frightening. _Perceptor_ , frightening. This dream just kept getting weirder. 

“Listen to me,” Perceptor said, and the steel in his voice made Brainstorm shiver. “I don’t know what you’ve been through, and I have no intention of prying. But I can promise that whatever happened, you deserved so much better.”

Brainstorm opened his mouth, about to protest, to say that he’d earned everything that had ever been done to him, but Perceptor’s glare silenced him. “I told you to _listen_ , you thick-headed aft. Quite frankly, you’re possessed of one of the most brilliant minds I’ve ever come across. And yet, despite how often _you_ say it, I get the feeling that nobody’s ever told you that. And I… I can’t countenance that.” 

He was speechless. If Perceptor hadn’t still been holding him, he might’ve toppled over. He needed to say something, formulate some witticism that would defuse the situation and get them back to the fun part that involved Perceptor’s lips on his own. But what his traitorous vocalizer ended up saying was, “You were less confrontational in my other dreams.”

Perceptor looked like he was experiencing acute spark failure. In a pained voice, he said “ _Other_ dreams? Brainstorm, this is _not_ a dream. If you’ve been operating under the presumption that is was, I must assure you that is not the case. And I can… leave, if you so desire. If you… would not be doing this in a non-hypothetical situation.” 

And he would actually do it, too. He’d walk right back out the door, the sincere fragger. This was utterly too much to process, especially removed from the comforting context of his imagination. Instead of replying, he carefully pried one of Perceptor’s hands from his shoulder and twined their servos together before sliding to the floor. Perceptor let himself be dragged down as well, until they were both sitting on the floor with their shoulders just barely touching, Perceptor half-propped against the plane of his wing. 

Perceptor didn’t seem inclined to say anything more, and Brainstorm hardly blamed him. They sat in near-silence, Brainstorm absently rubbing one of his servos against Perceptor’s. He could hear the faint hum of Perceptor’s engines, and the sound was somehow comforting. 

He… didn’t know what to do. On one hand, this was everything he’d ever wanted on a fragging silver platter. On the other, this apparently wasn’t a dream, and he was well aware that reality came with _consequences_. He was fragged up, any mech would agree, and he desperately didn’t want to draw Perceptor into his own personal misery. 

Some of his anxiety must have shown, because suddenly Perceptor was pulling him into a hug. He was surrounded by warmth, enveloped by the soothing rhythmical sounds of Perceptor’s inner mechanisms. 

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, better than okay."

Brainstorm was perched half in Perceptor’s lap now, but he wasn’t terribly inclined to move. He rested his helm against Perceptor’s shoulder, using his free hand to trace idly across the other mech’s chest. It was intimate in a way that could lead to something more, but didn’t have to. For the first time in ages, the tension had wholly melted from his struts. 

He felt himself drifting into recharge and succumbed to it willingly, comforted by the solid weight of Perceptor’s hand in his. 

\---

His systems rebooted themselves slowly, the blankness of recharge giving way to a sense of vague disorientation. So far as he could tell, this was not his own habsuite. The berth was slightly bigger, for one, and the ambient noises were all wrong. He onlined his optics and looked around. 

He was in Perceptor’s habsuite. The primary giveaway was Perceptor himself, who appeared to be recharging in a chair by the door. Which was… kind of sweet, but mostly ridiculous. The berth was big enough for two, and since the last thing he remembered was being wrapped in Perceptor’s arms, he hardly thought he’d done anything to suggest he’d be opposed to the idea. But then he remembered that Perceptor had asked before something as trivial as a hug, and he shook his head fondly. He didn’t know what Perceptor was doing, lavishing such care on a mech like himself, but he appreciated it all the same. 

He lowered himself from the berth and walked over to Perceptor, resting a hand on his shoulder. Perceptor’s optics flickered online almost immediately, suggesting that he’d only been in light recharge. He smiled up at Brainstorm with recharge-hazy warmth, and Brainstorm found himself smiling back. 

Mustering his strength, Brainstorm wrapped his arms around Perceptor and lifted him from the chair. He sputtered in protest but didn’t make any move to release himself from Brainstorm’s grip as he was carried over and placed on the berth. Immediately, Perceptor levered himself up on one arm and glared at Brainstorm through narrowed optics.

Brainstorm raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Hey, I just figured a mech shouldn’t be sleeping on a chair in his own room.”

Perceptor’s accusatory expression softened into something more sheepish in nature. “Ah, right. Well, you were the one in recharge. I would have carried you back to your habsuite, but I didn’t know your access code and I didn’t wish to wake you. I apologize if it was presumptuous to bring you to my berth; I promise I had no ulterior motives.”

“Mhm.” Brainstorm hummed, leaning forward. “But what if I _wanted_ you to have ulterior motives?”

Perceptor cycled his optics, clearly caught off-guard. “Well,” he said slowly. “Then I suppose you should get up here with me.”

Brainstorm was quick to comply, pulling himself up onto the berth and arranging himself so that he was barely touching Perceptor. He felt like any moment now he would wake up, would return to the reality where he was alone on the floor of the lab and Perceptor was avoiding him. 

But then Perceptor rested a hand against his chest, and the warm weight of it centered him. This was real, wasn’t it? They were really here. He leaned forward and pressed a sloppy kiss to Perceptor’s lips, suddenly giddy. 

He swept his glossa along Perceptor’s lower lip, feeling the other mech shiver against him. Perceptor’s hands came up to rest against his hips, tugging insistently until Brainstorm took the hint and resettled himself in the mech’s lap. 

Warmth flowed through his circuits, not quite peaking into arousal. Their glossa slid together, their hands roving across heated metal as they mapped each other’s frames with eager digits. One of Brainstorm’s servos brushed against Perceptor’s scope in passing, drawing a moan from his vocalizer. His cooling systems onlined themselves, venting warm air across Brainstorm’s plating

“I always wondered how sensitive that was,” Brainstorm said, drawing back from the kiss and applying his mouth to Perceptor’s neck cabling instead.

“It’s-- _ngh_ \--probably as sensitive as your wings, if I had to guess,” Perceptor managed, servos delving into the seams of Brainstorm’s legs in retribution. 

“O-oh?” His own cooling fans spun up, trying to offset his rapidly rising core temperature.

Already in Perceptor’s lap, it took only a slight adjustment for Brainstorm to press himself flush against the other mech. Sparks leapt from every point of contact as metal slid against metal, and the movement of Perceptor’s hands across his plating left charge arcing in its wake. 

Brainstorm’s vocalizer spit out a static-edged moan as he rolled his hips, grinding his still-closed pelvic array against Perceptor’s own panels. Perceptor’s hands stilled.

“Brainstorm,” he said. When Brainstorm ignored him, choosing instead to nip at one of the main energon lines in Perceptor’s neck, he repeated the name with more force.

“Why’d you stop?” He asked petulantly, tracing a servo around the rim of Perceptor’s scope. 

“Before this continues any farther, I need--” He broke off, arresting the motion of Brainstorm’s hand with one of his own, “I need to ensure that you want this.”

“ _Want_ this? Percy, you think I’d get this charged up over something I wasn’t enjoying?”

“Be that as it may, it would put me at ease to know your intentions.” 

Brainstorm paused in his attempts to provoke a reaction from Perceptor, focusing fully on the other mech’s words. 

“Well, for starters I want you to spike me until I scream,” he said, noting with satisfaction the way Perceptor’s vents hitched, “and then I suppose we’ll see how things go from there. Deal?”

“I would be… amenable to that,” Perceptor said, his voice strained, and Brainstorm grinned. 

He pressed a trail of wet kisses down Perceptor’s chest, stopping when his face was level with the interface array. Lubricant was beading around the edges of the panel and he licked it clean with a deft swipe of his glossa. Perceptor’s hands scrabbled desperately for purchase, servos scraping the delicate surface of his wings. Brainstorm’s optics filled with sparks as he moaned against the warm metal of Perceptor’s valve plate.

The panel opened with a snap, emitting a fresh gush of lubricant. Brainstorm ran a hand through the fluid, making a show of deliberately licking it off each servo. Perceptor’s vents caught at the sight, his head falling back against the berth. 

“Y’know, if you’re gonna frag me you’ll have to open this too,” Brainstorm said, tapping a wet servo against Perceptor’s spike housing. The panel slid back almost instantly, Perceptor’s spike pressurizing against his hand. It was largely unadorned, save for a line of blue biolights that ran along its underside. If he looked closely, he could see the same lights pulsing in the mesh of Perceptor’s valve

He sat back and triggered the release on his own panel, biting his lip at the sting of cold air against his overheated valve. He pushed a servo in, whimpering slightly as it pressed against a sensitive node. He added another servo, rolling his hips at the stretching sensation. 

There was a slick sound from above him, and he looked up to find Perceptor’s hand wrapped around his own spike, his attention focused on the movement of Brainstorm’s servos. 

Lubricant spilled over Brainstorm’s hand, dripping on to berth. Perceptor’s cooling systems whined in tandem with his own, heat spilling from their vents. 

He pulled wet servos from his valve, curling them deftly around Perceptor’s spike. Perceptor shifted his grip to Brainstorm’s arm, clutching tightly enough to leave slight dents in the metal. 

“Thought you wanted me to frag you,” he gasped. 

“I did say that, didn't I?” He released his grip on the spike, circling Perceptor’s anterior node before pressing his palm against it. He savored the slight arch of Perceptor’s back, the increasingly desperate rhythm of his ventilations. 

He shifted forward, pressing the lip of his valve against Perceptor’s leaking spike. Perceptor bucked against him, hips jolting reflexively at the sensation. 

Carefully, he positioned the head of Perceptor’s spike against his valve and sank down. The spike’s ridges pressed against his inner nodes, sending pleasure arcing through his frame. His valve cycled down, prompting a static-filled moan from Perceptor. 

Brainstorm leaned down to press a sloppy kiss to Perceptor’s lips, in-venting sharply as the movement pushed the spike deeper into him. Lubricant dripped down his aft as he held himself motionless, waiting for his frame to adjust. 

Perceptor rolled his hips impatiently, his vocalizer keening static. “Brainstorm, _please_.”

Brainstorm pulled himself back into an upright position, bracing his hands on Perceptor’s hips. He lifted himself until only the tip of Perceptor’s spike remained in his valve, his struts straining to remain balanced. Perceptor whined at the loss, optics flickering. 

Then Brainstorm slammed back down, the harsh clang of colliding metal reverberating through their frames as sparks spun across Brainstorm’s vision. His valve clenched at the sudden fullness, pressing the spike against deep and rarely stimulated nodes. Pleasure lit his processor, chasing out all other thought. 

He repeated the motion, speeding up his rhythm until his senses narrowed to the clash of plating and the whir of overtaxed fans. Perceptor made small, needy sounds with every thrust, sending lines of heat sparking through his energon lines. 

Brainstorm’s wings fluttered, affection flooding him as he watched Perceptor pant below him. Reality was looking better by the moment. 

He felt Perceptor’s spike pulse in his valve, heard Percy shout something that might’ve been a warning or his name. 

Then his valve was filled with transfluid as Perceptor overloaded, his hands clenching tight around Brainstorm’s wingtips. The sensitive plating registered pleasure so intense that it bordered on pain, and Brainstorm’s valve cycled down hard around the softening spike. 

Brainstorm’s servos flexed against the warm metal of Perceptor’s hips, clutching the other mech against him as he tipped over the edge into overload. Heat rushed through his frame, electricity crackling in the seams and joints of his armor as his optics offlined. He was faintly aware that he was babbling, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He slumped against Perceptor’s chest, bathed in the warmth of his vents. When he onlined his optics again, he found Perceptor looking at him with an unreadable expression. 

Brainstorm shifted so that the spike slid from his valve, wincing at the friction against his oversensitized nodes. Perceptor was still looking at him.

“What?” He mumbled, his face pressed against the glass of Perceptor’s chest. 

“Brainstorm, we should talk about this.”

“Don’t wanna,” he said petulantly, burying his face in Perceptor’s neck. 

Perceptor ex-vented loudly, rearranging the other mech so that they were lying face-to-face on the berth. Gently, he said, “What now?”

“Personally, I was thinking I’d get some recharge in.”

The look Perceptor leveled him with held no trace of amusement. Brainstorm ex-vented, crossing his arms as though to create a barrier between himself and the mech lying beside him. His wings fluttered nervously. 

“Look, I don’t exactly have much… experience with this. There was never time, and then nobody ever thought of me like that, and I just…” He reset his vocalizer. “I want you to stay. For as long as you can stand me. Do you think we could try that?” The words were wobbly, and he hoped Perceptor would have the good grace to not mention it.

“Brainstorm,” Perceptor said, reaching out with one hand to tilt Brainstorm’s helm up so that he was forced to meet Perceptor’s gaze. Those optics seemed to cut right through him, baring his very spark. “You are not something to be simply _endured_.” 

And that sounded-- that sounded like it couldn’t possibly be true. But Perceptor’s expression left no room for doubt. At the very least, he believed it. 

The sound that emerged from his vocalizer certainly wasn’t a sob, and he certainly didn’t wrap his arms around Perceptor and pull the startled mech close. 

After a moment, Brainstorm felt Perceptor’s arms wrap around him in a comforting embrace. His hands rubbed small, soothing circles against the metal of Brainstorm’s back. 

“We can continue this in whatever manner is most comfortable to you, for as long as both of us find pleasure in it,” Perceptor said, and Brainstorm’s spark fluttered at the implication. 

He felt, at that moment, that he’d never been happier.


End file.
